


your french girls

by ienablu



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Drawing, M/M, Steve Rogers Has PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 23:11:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5310671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ienablu/pseuds/ienablu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve goes to Sam on a rough night. And then a few nights after that and again after that. Between the movies and the drawing, things smooth out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your french girls

It’s just after midnight when Steve finds himself knocking on a familiar door. A few seconds pass before he hears the sound of approaching footsteps. Another few seconds before the door unlocks, opens.

"Hey," Sam greets. He’s still blinking sleep out of his eyes, but there’s an easy smile on his face. It fades as his gaze flicks over Steve. He nods, and he steps back from the door. "C'mon in."

Steve walks through the door.

"What's up?" 

Steve shrugs. "I just needed to get out of my apartment," he says. "Fresh air. Hope I'm not interrupting you?"

"Nah, man, it's cool. What’s on your mind?”

A lot. Too much. Sixty-plus years. Steve remembers the deep breathing exercises Agent Monroe, the re-integration specialist from SHIELD, taught him. He looks around Sam’s house. He’s been here before – but it’s been during the morning, in the late afternoon, the fading hours of the evenings. Never this late at night, not when the house had been sleeping.

Steve feels like he’s trespassing.

Steve knows Sam understands.

“You want to watch a movie?” Sam asks, nodding towards his flat screen.

“Sure.”

"What do you want to watch?"

Steve shrugs.

Sam opens his movie cabinet with a flourish.

There’s a lot of movies, sorted by alphabetical order. Steve only recognizes a few of the titles. He only has one requirement – no action flicks with gratuitous violence – but judging by the fonts and color schemes, that genre doesn't make up a lot of Sam's movie cabinet.

"Or,” Sam suggests, “give me a letter."

"M."

Sam plucks a DVD, and starts over to the TV.

Steve sits down on the couch. "Gotta say, though, I'm not too big a fan of Wheel of Fortune. Jeopardy, though, is a great way to fill in some of the gaps."

Sam huffs a laugh. 

The film is a loud, flashy, brightly-colored romantic musical.

As the movie progresses, Steve feels himself relax. More and more until he’s able to admit, “I’ve gotten used to my bed.”

“But it hasn’t made sleeping any easier,” Sam concludes for him.

“Not tonight.”

Fifteen minutes later, Sam asks, "You going to any groups?"

Steve shakes his head. "I heard of one I thought I might like," he says, with a sidelong glance towards Sam. "But I did some reading, and it seems that a lot of organizations advise against multiple relationships."

"No psychologist is allowed to be a friend, client or sexual partner of their patient," Sam recites. "Granted I'm not a full-fledged psychologist, but I am a certified Peer Specialist, and we try and follow the same guidelines."

"You want to be one?"

Sam shrugs. "I took a few psychology classes online when I first got shipped back over here. I just had a full plate, let it slide. May pick it up again in the future, may not.” 

Another musical number starts up. Steve doesn’t recognize most of the cast, and Sam lists a few relevant roles of each of the main actors. 

Another fifteen minutes pass. “First group didn’t work out. You thinking about looking into any others?”

Steve shrugs a shoulder. “Probably should,” he admits.

"You want resources? 'Cause I got resources."

"You got resources?" Steve asks.

"Man, I got so many resources."

Steve laughs.

"If you’re free Wednesday evenings, I know a group you might like. The group lead, me and her went through a lot of the training seminars together. You two would be a good match."

"Don't tell Natasha that," Steve says.

"I don't think you're her type. Besides, I haven’t heard from Natasha in a few days."

“She has a Congressional hearing coming up. Though I’m not certain whether that means she’s lying low, or if she’s talking with all the lawyers left in SHIELD.”

“Either way, best of luck to Congress.”

Steve laughs, and they finish the movie in an amiable silence.

 

-

 

The next week, Steve comes over with his notebook. “I went to the group you recommended,” Steve says, as Sam lets him into the house. "The group leader says to find a way to channel yourself."

Sam starts browsing his movie selection. “I take it you liked Lola?”

“I was expecting someone more like you. She had a different style, but I still liked her.”

This time, Sam picks a French romantic comedy. "You want me to see if it's dubbed?"

"Non, je parle française."

Sam stares at him for a moment. “Mind if I put on subtitles?”

Steve smiles, and opens up his sketchbook. “Not at all.”

“Good.”

As the credits start, Steve says, "I used to know an Amélie."

"Did she like dipping her hand into sacks of grain?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Steve says, eyebrow raised.

Sam laughs. “It’s a line later on.”

The Amélie that Steve knew looks different from the actress on the screen. Same dark hair, same wide eyes, but the face shapes are different. He pulls out the stub of a pencil he’s been carrying around – far more comfortable than the mechanical pencils that seemed to be favored nowadays – and starts sketching Amélie.

To the side, he draws the actress for comparison.

He starts thinking back to the other girls from the USO. After Amélie comes Mallorie, and after Mallorie is Beverly and Lois and Gail. Most of the girls have passed away. Agent Monroe had tracked down as many as she could, and Steve’s looped in on an email chain with them. Under Beverly in her USO uniform seventy years ago, he draws the picture of what she had looked like in the picture she sent. It hurts, but in some ways it helps too.

Halfway into the movie, Steve realizes Sam has fallen asleep. His arms crossed over his chest, his head dipped down against his chest.

Steve flips to a new page. He’s been drawing from memory for the past hour, and it’s strange to go back to a present subject. Steve spends a few minutes watching the light flicker over Sam’s face, watching the steady rise and fall of Sam’s chest. He turns back his sketchbook, and draws a few lines for the couch. For Sam, he uses shorter, sturdier, stronger strokes. Just a profile, the line of his nose, the curve of his jaw.

The movie ends with a happy ending, and Steve lets himself out of Sam’s house.

 

-

 

Natasha is in his apartment the next morning. There are take-out boxes from a nearby diner sitting on the table. She has a newspaper in front of her, and Steve realizes that he left his sketchbook open on last night’s sketch of Sam.

“Morning,” Steve greets, hoping she won’t comment on it.

“Morning,” she replies. She flips to another page of the newspaper, then asks, "Are you painting Sam like one of your French girls?"

“You looked through it?” Steve asks. He grabs a fork, and pulls a box of pancakes in closer.

She shakes her head. “No, just making a very funny reference.”

Steve smiles at her. He takes a bite, then clears his throat. “You can look through them, if you want.”

Natasha stares at him for a long minute, analyzing every aspect of what he just said, dissecting what motives and what ulterior motives he might have.

It’s not as complex as she’s likely making it out to be. Steve trusts her, and he trusts her with this.

She nods, and then sets her paper aside, and pulls his sketchbook over, flipping back through the pages. “These all from memory.”

“Mostly.”

“You’ve got a good memory.”

“Too good, sometimes. But drawing helps.”

She nods again, and goes further back. She stills, and flips the sketchbook around so he can see the portrait.

Steve feels the beginnings of a blush warm his face.

"And who's this?"

"Private Lorraine."

Natasha hums. “And who was she?”

“She was, uh, a private I knew at one of the bases.” He hasn’t thought of her a lot – she lies in the middle of a few complicated emotional tangles, and it’s easier to not think about her. It’s made easier by the fact that he gave her name to Agent Monroe, but she hadn’t been able to find anything on her.

Natasha gives him an inscrutable look. “Uh-huh.” She flicks through back to the picture of Sam, and sets the sketchbook exactly where it had been prior. “I’ve got to go, but thank you for letting me eat my breakfast in peace here.”

“Thanks for not telling me how you got in.”

She snorts, and makes her way out of his apartment. “See you around, Rogers.”

 

-

 

Steve is looking forward to movie night with Sam, and he arrives 

When he opens the door, Sam looks tired, his expression pinched.

Steve frowns. “This a bad time?”

He shakes his head. “Come on in.”

Steve steps into the house, but he doesn’t slide out of his shoes. “You doing okay?”

Sam runs a hand over his face. "Sorry, man, I'm not having a great day."

"You don't need to apologize for that," Steve says, quietly. "Not to me, at least. I know..."

Sam nods.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks. He’s already offered to leave, however subtly, so he goes for the next option. “Want me to pick the movie?”

“I’d appreciate it.”

Steve opens the DVD cabinet. He choses a foreign martial arts film that he’s heard the title of once or twice. By the time he’s started the movie up, he sees that Sam has lowered himself to the rug, leaning back against the couch. "Need any pillows?" Steve asks.

Sam shakes his head.

Steve settles down next to him, on his left, leaving his sketchbook on the couch.

“You can take the couch if you want it.”

“I’m fine like this.”

The movie has a gorgeous score, and Steve is always interested in foreign films, and the glimpses into different cultures. But there’s something nagging in the back of his mind.

There’s a quiet lull in the movie, and Steve says, "If you want, I've got resources."

Sam huffs a laugh. "You got resources?"

"I got resources."

Another half-laugh. “Thanks.”

The movie progresses, and Sam gradually sinks lower and lower.

Steve keeps his focus half on the movie, half on Sam, like he imagines Sam did for him that first time.

Eventually, Sam ends up lying on the ground.

Steve knows better than to offer a pillow.

The movie continues.

Sam falls asleep.

Steve pauses the movie. Then, on second thought, he turns the TV off.

The house is quiet. From the kitchen, light shines from above the stove, and a hum comes from the refrigerator. The house is sleeping, Sam is sleeping, but Steve doesn’t feel like an intruder this time.

Steve reaches back for his sketchbook.

Without the movie, drawing becomes a primary focus. He tilts towards Sam, and spends long minutes watching him, before starting his sketch. The light from above the stove provides enough ambient light to see, the lighting on his face subtle, softening his features. 

Steve smudges the graphite to wear away the harsher lines. Tries to capture the sight in front of him. Most of his drawings have been short sketches, but on Sam he lingers. He shades too dark, and he dabbles his eraser, so he can smooth the shading, perfect the way the light falls on his face. He spends long seconds sweeping his thumb over Sam’s cheekbone, before he realizes what he’s doing.

Heat flushes his cheeks, down his neck and further down still.

He stands up, abruptly. A part of him thinks he should leave, but he knows it’s not the right thing to do. He sets his sketchbook down on the kitchen table, and makes his way to the guest bedroom.

 

-

 

Steve wakes up the next morning to a knocking on the doorframe.

Sam is leaning against the doorframe, dressed in gray sweats. “I’m going for my morning jog. You wanna come with?”

He rubs his hand over his face. “Sure.”

“There should be some spare gym clothes in the dresser,” Sam adds, before disappearing down the hallway.

Steve operates on early-morning autopilot up until he gets to the kitchen, and sees that his sketchbook is still there. It had seemed like a good idea last night, but in the early morning daylight, Steve has some doubts.

Sam catches his expression. “Don’t worry,” he says. "I'm more flattered than anything.”

“I’m glad.” Steve grabs one of the store-bought croissants from the counter.

“Would you mind if I looked through it?”

Steve shakes his head. Starts eating the croissant, looking out the window to keep himself from watching Sam’s expression as he looks at his sketches.

A long minute passes with just the sound of pages being turned, before Sam lets out a snort. "You let Natasha look through this?"

Steve turns back to Sam and nods. Then frowns. "Why?"

"She just left you a movie to add to your list."

“What movie?”

Sam stares at him for a long minute. His assessment is nothing like what Natasha’s had been the other morning. He nods, and starts making his way to the door. “What’re your plans for later tonight?”

“Continuing our movie marathon, hopefully.” Steve shoots him a smile. “Might come over a little bit before midnight, though, if that’s alright.”

Sam’s smile is radiant. “Sounds great.”

“I’m still going to lap you, though,” Steve tells him, jogging down the porch steps and walkway while Sam locks up.

“You will if you take a head-start,” Sam calls after him.

Steve just laughs in reply.


End file.
